


In a box

by The_Fic_Bot_TM



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: M/M, angsty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fic_Bot_TM/pseuds/The_Fic_Bot_TM
Summary: Nick and Greg deal with the aftermath of Grave Danger.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	In a box

Nick wakes to the sound of Greg’s heavy breathing. Rolling to his side he reaches out a hand to him.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He soothes. Greg’s quiet except for the noises he makes trying to stifle his distress. Nick knows not to push, instead just opens his arms in invitation and Greg rolls into him immediately. Nick’s hand is in his hair a moment later.

“Nick?” He whispers into their silence. “I can tell you everything, right?” Nick’s heart thunders with worry and fear. What could possibly be bad enough that Greg is afraid to tell him? “Of course, G. Anything.”

Greg buries his face deeper into Nick’s chest and tightens his arms around him. He takes another reluctant breath before he speaks in a low voice. “Sometimes I dream of you. In a box.”

It’s something they don’t talk about. An unspoken rule. But Greg sounds so fragile and suddenly it dawns on Nick how much all of it still affects Greg, how he isn’t the only one who can’t shake the memories, the fear.

He wraps his arms tighter around Greg and slowly licks his lips. “I… I’m okay.” He mumbles into Greg’s hair. “I know,” Greg tells him, “I know and it’s been so long and I should just-” Nick stops him with a hand in his hair. “No, I mean I’m good to talk about it. If you need to.”

His heart is still beating fast, his voice sounds weak, but he means it. “Tell me about your dreams, don’t bottle it up like I do.” Greg huffs a small laugh. “I don’t want to make it worse by bringing it up again.”

Nick shakes his head and sighs. “It’s always there, anyway.” He admits. “I can push it to the back of my mind but it’s always there.” Greg nods against his chest in understanding.

He doesn’t talk right away, breathes slowly in and out while Nick combs his fingers through Greg’s hair. “Don’t know where to start, huh?” Nick knows that feeling well. Greg hums in agreement.

“It’s kind of abstract,” he tries to explain, “I can see the outlines of the box. I can look inside, like in the feed.” He pauses, shudders. Nick swallows dryly. “It’s not always the same, the events keep changing but there always comes the part where I see your face.”

Nick sees himself the way that Greg describes him. Feels the restrictive atmosphere of the coffin, finds it hard to breathe.

“Your eyes. They dart around in panic, and you scream, I can see you scream but I can’t hear.” The calm in Greg’s voice doesn’t betray his emotions, Nick can feel him tremble by his side, hears his sharp intakes of breath. He doesn’t dare to interrupt. His palms are sweaty where they touch Greg’s bare skin.

“I was so scared, Nicky, I thought you were going to die.” He’s not talking about the dream anymore, Nick instinctively knows. His throat feels tied shut but he manages to croak out, “Me, too.”

Tears form in the corners of his eyes. He hasn’t pictured it in a while but Greg’s words bring him right back between those six narrow walls. He can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

“Nick?” He hears a distant voice. Hands wipe at his face. “Nick!” It’s dark. He can’t see. But there’s a hand on his cheek. He’s not alone. “Nick, look at me!” His body is shaking. No, being shaken. Two strong hands on his shoulders and Greg’s voice is permeating the haze. His eyes blink against the sudden glare of the spotlight, except it’s not that bright. It’s a soft glow and there are hands and the ground beneath him is soft and there is Greg. He’s not alone. Greg is with him, above him.

He’s breathing erratically but at least he’s breathing. He can. There is air in his lungs and the smell of Greg.

“There you are.” Greg says softly as he keeps stroking his cheeks and wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Nick, I’m so sorry,” he mutters, eyes flicking across Nick’s face. “I didn’t mean to trigger a flashback, I’m so sorry.” Without conscious thought he pushes Greg away. He needs to move, he needs to sit. His hands wipe at his face as he exhales and slumps forward, arms on his knees.

He wants to talk, want to reassure Greg that he’s fine, it’s not his fault. His tongue won’t form words. The hand that touches his shoulder feels hesitant.

“I’m sorry,” Greg continues his apologies and all that Nick can do is shake his head. _It’s not your fault, it’s not your fault, I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m the ones who’s broken._ He can’t speak. Blindly he reaches sideways until his fingers find Greg’s and he holds on like he did to Warrick‘s. He needs that connection, needs the reassurance.

“I’m sorry,” the mantra continues to wash over him, making his heart ache. Soft kisses rain on his shoulder and he leans into the touch, squeezes Greg’s hand in silent communication.

Slowly his breathing calms. Wiping at his eyes he tries to rub the images away, then clears his throat and tries to find his voice. “Stop it,” he croaks, making Greg still in his motions and let his hand fall away from Nick’s back. “I’m so-” Nick has to cut him off. “Not the touching, stop apologizing,” he clarifies.

“I’m s-” Greg chuckles dryly as catches himself, “Are you alright?” With a deep sigh Nick drags his hands over his face again and turns to Greg. “Yeah, I’m okay.” The look on Greg’s face still exudes guilt. Nick presses their foreheads together and frames his face with both hands. “It’s okay, baby, really,” he promises and then he pulls him into a hug. Greg embraces his waist and melts into him. As the minutes pass he shifts uncomfortably. He can literally sense the words Greg is holding back.

“How are you?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, needing to deflect. Greg frowns at him when he pulls back.

“I’m fine,” he says, “just worried.” He rubs Nick’s arm as he speaks. “This is really fucked up,” Nick mutters and shakes his head, “You’re the one who wakes from a nightmare and I’m the one who freaks out.” A smile tugs at Greg’s lips, small but reassuring. “It’s not your fault, either,” he offers and leans his forehead against Nick’s again.

“Yeah,” Nick breathes out thoughtfully, “I know.”

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets up, chuckling when Greg slumps back into the pillows with a thud.

“Where are you going?” Greg asks as Nick rounds the bed. “I’m gonna take a shower, clear my head.” Nick replies. Greg groans and sits up. “Yeah, I don’t think I can go back to sleep either,” he muses and turns off the alarm, “I’ll go make coffee.”

Nick is almost through the door when he stops and turns around. Bending down he kisses Greg on the head and smiles. “I love you, G.”


End file.
